The Mirror of Erised
by free elf 25
Summary: What Albus Dumbledore really saw (other than woollen socks)


**_Author's Note_**

_Another HPFF one-shot. Start lines are from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, while the end line is from the Deathly Hallows. Written quite a while ago and has not been edited._

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"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

The small boy sitting on the floor stood up, his fringe flickering over to reveal the scar etched across his forehead. Picking up the shimmering cloak from beside him, he paused.

"Sir- Professor Dumbledore?"

The tall man looked at him, hiding his smile. He predicted the words before the stumbled out his mouth, like a long lost lullaby sung to you every night of your life.

"What do you see when you look in the Mirror?"

"I?" The man paused, debating on how much to reveal. "I see myself holding a pair of thick woollen socks."

The boy looked at him in confusion. Compared to what he saw in the Mirror, it sounded like something so small and simple.

"One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

The boy nodded, disappearing under the cloak and trudging from the room. But the man just stood there, staring at the floor, willing himself not to look at the Mirror again.

"Come on. You have to move it before morning. You're still a Gryffindor; you can do this." Murmured the small voice in the back of his head. Soothing, but annoying. The truth always was. Straightening his hat and adjusting his beard, he lifted the trailing tips of his cloak and marched towards the Mirror on the otherside of the room. Removing his wand, he begged his eyes not to look at the dancing shadows behind his reflection, but as always, they still did.

He stood there, the same man, exept his face glowing with light. His nose was straight, no fractures, and the scars on his hands has disappeared. To his left shoulder was Arianna, so happy, her magic fluttering like birds around her. Beside her was his brother, looking at him with pride, instead of the hateful glares like in reality.

To his right shoulder was a man, beckoning him over, his eyes filled with images of brilliant plans. There were no walls, no fights between them, just two men trying to learn who they were, who they were meant to be. Grindelwald.

The name fluttered out his mouth, like a word of a song, causing tears to prick at his eyes.

Grindelwald turned away, calling the other shadows to come forward. Each figure took shape, standing tall amist a fog of dancing golden lights.

Alice and Frank, happy and whole, holding a grinning Neville close to them.

Lily and James, light and love holding them together, wisping around the young child infront of them. He could see the boy held no horror, no pain, not even a scar of the past.

Sirius was laughing with Remus, neither with tortured eyes or scarred faces, while Peter stood adoringly behind them.

Molly was reunited with her brothers, each family smiling with those they never even knew they'd lost. And right in the middle, a man in his late 40's, with black hair swept over to one side and keen green eyes. There was no hatred inside of him, no cracks in his soul, the only thing that needed to be healed to grant the majority of this reflection's wish.

He smiled, a genuine smile, one he hadn't seen since he was the first boy in his Charms class to perform a Second Year charm with ease. Pride. Humanity. A woman and a young teenager appeared behind him, both equally happy, no signs of force or breaks in the mirage.

It was so beautiful, yet so tragic, as he knew it was impossible. He lifted his hand, holding it out for his sister, his brother, Grindelwald, anyone to take, to clutch it close and tell him everything would be alright. But no one did take it. His hand passed straight through Arianna's figure, like she was smoke.

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, Albus." He murmured, drying his now soaked eyes, brushing the tears off his crooked nose. Closing his eyes and raising his wand, he chanted a short, handmade spell, and waited until the air and dust around him had settled. When he reopened them, the Mirror was gone, back to where it would be dealt with in the morning.

"Don't pity the dead. Pity the living Albus. Pity the living." He said, shaking all the faces to the back of his mind. As silent as a spider, he left the room, discarding the shards of his broken past.

_I show not your face but your heart's desire_.


End file.
